


Enough

by foxdeer



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Feels, Battle of Dol Guldur, Final Requests, Final moments, M/M, Major Character Injury, Regret, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 03:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12808266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxdeer/pseuds/foxdeer
Summary: Haldir acts the hero, but pays dearly for his decision.





	Enough

It had only taken a momentary lapse in concentration for the King of Mirkwood to find himself without a sword, his weapon knocked from his hand unceremoniously by the large steel sceptre of an overgrown black orc. The flash of silver as his perfectly crafted sword flew into the air and landed with a clatter far beyond his reach had caught the corner of Haldir’s eye. He watched on, enthralled, as King Thranduil effortlessly dodged the overbalancing swings of the orc’s spiked club. The King was attempting to get close enough to recover his sword and put himself back into the fight, but the orc was aiming his blows at the space between the King and his weapon, essentially stopping him from his plight. 

Without that weapon, Haldir feared that he would shortly see the death of the King of Mirkwood. For the moment he had stopped fighting completely, surveying the scene as though he was separate to the spoils of war around him. They fought at Dol Guldur, attempting to rid the fortress of its darkness and the monsters that dwelled within it. Once upon a time, there may have been contentious relations between the Elven realms of Middle Earth, but now they stood alongside one another again. The race of Elves had set aside their differences in the face of the growing strength of Mordor, and the time of the War of the Ring had shown that it mattered not what race you were when evil endured as all were affected. 

Haldir remained frozen in a seemingly never-ending stasis, observing as the King of Mirkwood moved further back away from this monstrous orc. His attempts to reclaim his sword had not worked, and Haldir watched as the moment dawned upon the King’s face. He had been separated from his weapon, and he was dodging the sceptre with impossible movements, however he was well aware that he was being backed further towards a grey stone wall of the fortress. King Thranduil would soon be cornered, and from there – there would be no way out. Haldir’s brain worked in overtime. The scene appeared to happen in slow motion. Thranduil was backed into the corner. Haldir saw his hands feel the wall behind him, a certain assurance to the King that these were his final moments. There was to be no escape. The dark orc roared with something akin to laughter, raising his spiked, crude metal club high above his head. The King closed his eyes, his face scrunched up, awaiting the blow…

Without another second to waste, Haldir dashed forward, pushing his way through fighting elves and orcs, avoiding being hit narrowly a few times. With as much strength as he could muster, Haldir swung his sword slicing off the black orc’s hand that held the sceptre. The orc screamed a foul cry, stumbling away as Haldir rushed forward to check on King Thranduil. From all of the times that Haldir had ever met the unwavering King, his stubborn face had always seemed impassive and aloof. However, Thranduil looked strangely vulnerable, young – in fact – his pale blue eyes sparkling from unshed terrified tears. He had been ready to cry, Haldir noted. He had been preparing for the Halls of Mandos.

“Are you well?” Haldir asked him, clutching unconsciously onto Thranduil’s forearm. He felt the hand of the King grasp him back.

The battle continued around them, and as such Haldir had mostly ignored it, choosing to take this moment to ensure that Thranduil felt stable enough to begin fighting again. However, Thranduil’s eyes did not linger on Haldir’s face, and instead looked behind him, his eyes widening in horror, his mouth about to say something –

An enraged growl cut through the general battle noise, but Haldir had ignored it – assumed it to be somewhere else. It wasn’t until he felt an intense burning pain and pressure in his back spreading through to his stomach. On impulse he dared himself to look down, noticing that through his grey Marchwarden’s uniform the shining silver end of Thranduil’s gorgeously crafted sword protruded from his left side of his lower abdomen. Haldir had always thought this sword pretty. He had even envied it at one point. How ironic, he thought, that he would die from a sword he had admired and wished for himself. Slowly, he watched as it was pulled out of his body, the crimson deep red of his blood blossomed upon his uniform.

Haldir was somewhat aware that his body had gone slack, his hand loosened upon his own sword that was not as impressive as the King’s. Thranduil took it forcefully from his hand, leaning around the Marchwarden to land the sword deep into the chest of the orc, twisting it in his mangled body for good measure. The world began to spin, Haldir’s hands clutched hopelessly at his stomach. He could hardly believe that he had allowed for this to happen. In all of his years fighting battles upon battles, strategizing plans to ensure the safety of all the elves in his army… had he not always counted himself amongst those to save?

“Haldir –“ the deep voice of King Thranduil began, his arms now thoroughly supporting Haldir’s weakening body. In the end, he felt his legs give way. He felt himself fall ungraciously, his head was heavy and landed with a bump on the mossy stoned floor of the fortress. “Haldir – can you hear me?”

Of course Haldir could hear him. He could hear everything and nothing all at once. He had never thought that dying would be like this. For some reason he had imagined it peaceful, a relief like falling asleep at the end of a very long day, but no – all Haldir felt was immeasurable pain, that breathing was a struggle and a wave of regret and guilt at the fact there was no hope for him any longer. He was to leave behind two brothers, although the fight around them was fierce. Haldir had not seen them for hours. For all he knew, they could be dead too.

“Haldir?”

The worried voice of King Thranduil was unfamiliar. Of all the people that Haldir had thought he would die beside, King Thranduil was not one of them. They had never seen eye to eye, and most of the time Haldir had found himself resenting the King of Mirkwood. His relationship with his son was thoroughly different, but Thranduil had never enjoyed the closeness of the friendship between Haldir and Legolas. He had always resented the Galadhrim, and Haldir was well aware of it. For a fleeting second, although he was with Thranduil, Haldir felt wholly alone. When he had envisioned dying, he had imagined being beside Lord Celeborn apologising for not fighting hard enough, for failing at his duty. He had no time to do that now. Equally, Haldir had always thought that perhaps he would die with one he loved beside him. Alas, there was no one he had bonded with in this life. If he wished, he could kid himself that he had left behind no lover, but that was not altogether true. 

Haldir found it increasingly difficult to breathe. He looked longingly towards the sky, darkened and grey for the spawn of Mordor could not fight in the daylight. How he wished to see the blue sky, to pretend for a moment that he was lying in a clearing outside Caras Galadhon, watching as the clouds rolled by and idly dreaming of the days when he could share in that moment with somebody else. Instead, Thranduil’s face swum across his vision. His pale hair was stark in contrast to the blackened sky, held back in perfect form with a delicate silver circlet. There was a look of mourning upon his face – one that Haldir had never witnessed before. His eyes were closed, a few tears upon his cheeks.

Strangely, Haldir felt overcome. If he was to die, he had one last request. One that no other on this battlefield could offer him than Thranduil.

“Please look at me,” Haldir choked, his voice thick, the taste of metal in his mouth – blood.

Thranduil opened his eyes, swimming with tears – bright, alive and an aquamarine blue. He could imagine that those eyes belonged to someone else – one who could have owned his heart had he wished for it. No more for this life though. Perhaps in the next. If he blurred his vision slightly, he could pretend that this was his love, and that he was here in spirit to see him pass on. And he felt so guilty – so, so guilty – that he could not say he loved him. That he could not whisper those three words for the first time. That he could not finally admit that this was no longer a fleeting fancy whenever the mood took him. This was a deep, burning love. Yet, now it was all too late.

But Haldir took some comfort, as Thranduil told him not to leave this Earth - not yet, that if he could not tell Legolas his love after this battle, he had certainly ensured that he had gifted him his father. And that was enough, Haldir thought as the weight of his pain became unbearable and he wanted to let go. 

That was enough.


End file.
